


Mule

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 03:54:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3235319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin’s kindness goes and comes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mule

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Drabble for anon’s “Bofur being my favorite character, I'd just like to see anything where he gets carried around for whatever reason.” request on [The Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/13429.html?thread=24560757#t24560757).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

They’ve all tried, of course, time and time again, with Fíli and Kíli pestering away and Balin’s quiet wisdom and even Dwalin’s growls, but nothing’s getting through. Bofur gets elected to try next, because he’s the _nice_ one, and for some reason, the others think that’ll make any difference. 

Whatever joy Bofur might’ve given Thorin on the journey here is clearly buried in the past, because Thorin bellows, “ _No,_ ” just as loud to Bofur as he did all the others. Bofur has to clutch at the ends of his hat to keep it from toppling off under Thorin’s shouts, and Thorin stays to glaring at him, fuming like the dragon he replaced. 

This isn’t the Thorin Oakenshield Bofur agreed to follow to the last. All the admiration, all the loyalty Bofur once felt is slowly draining out of him, and he’s _tried_ more than any of them to stay positive, but it’s so _hard_ when Thorin’s eyes are made of fire. 

Then Thorin turns abruptly around and storms back off through the gold, his heavy footsteps falling deep enough to scatter coins everywhere. Bofur watches him go a few steps, then thinks of Bilbo’s heartbroken face, and races forward to follow. He can’t give up. Bilbo got them out of so many scrapes and deserves more than to be so callously discarded over all his good intentions. Even if Bofur would’ve never taken the Arkenstone himself, he understands why Bilbo did, and he splutters, “Thorin, wait—” even though Thorin isn’t listening. 

Thorin’s storming through his treasure, kicking up gems and peering lustily down at all the finery. He’s become one living mass of greed, hardened around all the edges. Bofur has to hurry to keep up, stumbling through the uneven mounds that cover the floor. It’s like navigating hard hills always in the thrust of earthquakes, but Thorin seems to have no trouble whisking through it. At one point, he stops to pick up a ruby-embedded goblet, which he holds up to the torches, examining its glossy sheen under the light. 

That gives Bofur the moment he needs to catch up, and he comes right behind Thorin again, insisting, “We can’t just leave the little guy out there. You yourself said how brave he was, how honourable, and this isn’t even his quest, but he came all this way with us. He’s part of the family—”

The words die in his throat when Thorin whirls on spot, arm punching out to shove Bofur fiercely away, and Bofur stumbles backwards, losing his footing. He slips on a string of pearls and goes crashing to the floor, his back hitting the downward slope with a painful crack, and the entire hill gives way beneath him. He topples down amidst the wave of coins, just to hit the bottom and roll with the pressure, his leg twisting horribly beneath him. The gold goes roaring over his head, half burying him, and even once the avalanche stops, Bofur can’t move, because his ankle is shooting a searing pain up his leg and he’s moaning woefully. 

He expects Thorin to move on, stomp away to ogle more gold, and he wonders bitterly why he ever agreed to this stupid journey in the first place. He can’t imagine why he’s so loyal to a stubborn tyrant of a king. 

A few more coins rush down beside his head, and he turns to see Thorin hurrying down the slope. He slides right to Bofur’s side, his eyes wide and _alive_ again, though the bags beneath them still cling to his skin. He shakes his head and opens his mouth, muttering, “Bofur...”

A split second later he looks _horrible_ , awful and guilty, and he kneels down at Bofur’s side to clear away the rubble. Bofur doesn’t bother to help, but he does insist, “I’m alright,” even though he isn’t. He’s supposed to be the optimistic one, and Thorin’s gone through enough misery. Thorin just shakes his head again and keeps digging. 

When the way’s clear, Thorin’s hands slip under Bofur, one below his shoulders and the other beneath his knees, and he’s scooped into the air like he weighs nothing, so suddenly that he yelps and has to cling to Thorin’s robe, thick and rich against his palms. Thorin lingers long enough to grab Bofur’s fallen hat in the ends of his fingers, then lifts slowly to his feet, taking all of Bofur’s weight. 

Bofur clings dazedly to Thorin’s chest. It’s been a long time since anyone’s carried him, and he never thought he’d experience Thorin’s strong arms quite like this. Thorin hikes him up, balancing him easily, and Bofur wraps his arms around Thorin’s neck to hold on, still bewildered but now a little bashful, and he mumbles, “Thanks.”

“I’m sorry,” Thorin sighs. He makes no mention of Bilbo, but Bofur, at least, he still clearly cares for. He looks exhausted, but he carries Bofur off with all the power of king. Bofur could probably limp along without being carried—he’d just need a stick or Thorin’s broad shoulder, but he’s not about to protest to the free lift. He leans his head against Thorin’s shoulders, settling in for the ride. It’s going to be a long walk back to the camp of the others, but Thorin mutters fiercely, “It’ll be alright. We’ll fix you right up.”

Bofur mumbles, “Okay.”

He knows why he followed this man so far, through so much, and as that warmth burns through, Bofur knows he’d do it all again. Thorin’s arms bring him to safety and set him softly down, back into the circle of thirteen dwarves, loyal to each other to the end.


End file.
